#Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hausofmamadas · 3 days

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For Those That Seek the Jungle's Forgiveness | Part 2

(formerly "Gone. Like That." Catch up with -> Part 1)

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Pairing: Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy and Mika Camarena x Javi Peña

Word count: ≈ 5.2K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, grief/mourning, loss of significant other, discussion of guns

This was an argument she'd had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. Mika almost accidentally manslaughters Javi when he sneaks up on her on dark street at night, and then she proceeds to roast him for pulling some trick-ass shit, not keeping in contact with Connie while he’s been looking into Steve’s disappearance. Eventually, he accepts that Mika’s 40x smarter and wiser than him and bends the knee to the real comandante of this operation and comes one step closer to realizing he’s lowkey in love with her.

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Mika glanced at her watch. Almost exactly half past eleven. She pulled up and idled in front of Connie and Steve’s place, staring at the front steps and metal railing that led to the black, geometric, lattice work on the front door.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. By who? No clue. But with every tick of her watch, she jumped, confusing it with the phantom sound of a camera snapping. She could already see what the picture might look like: her station wagon parked conspicuously in front of the building, bathed in the warm, sallow glow of the street lights.

Hand on the wheel, she leaned forward, surveying the street with an outstretched index finger before making a U-turn and parking on the other side of the street. The engine was already off by the time she noticed it in the rear view mirror, a familiar boxy silhouette, two cars back, jacked up on all four wheels, that giant hood covering the back. Shit. It was Javi’s. She’d recognize that jalopy anywhere. So much for keeping the information contained between just her and Connie. So much for keeping the DEA out of it.

Oh well, she’d just have to find a way to convince Javi to go it alone with them. That would probably take some doing. She’d have to call Laura, see if she could look after Kikito and Danny for a few more hours. She hated to be more of a burden but they couldn’t risk Javi getting a bunch of agencies involved that would only eat the clock fighting over jurisdiction, paperwork, money. Plus, Danny loved when Laura showed him all the new additions to their huge fish tank.

Still, it was strange. Didn’t Connie say on the phone that Javi went back embassy? He did live downstairs, though. He might've just stopped at home. But Connie made it sound like he’d left in a rush. Maybe he forgot to tell her something important. That’d make a lot more sense than him being home. Hell, chasing a man they didn’t know and would probably never meet, these guys always found reasons not to come home. Chasing a partner gone MIA? Fucking forget it. So sure, maybe he’d got some news. Maybe he’d booked it back in a hurry because the news was bad. Mika shook her head. No, no, don’t go there. Not yet.

Reaching over, she popped the glove box. The door fell open to reveal the barrel of a Glock that Kiki had given her years ago, shining in the low light of the car. Was she really going to walk around with this now? Was it even necessary? Of course it was. Steve was missing and this place was a war zone. She tucked it into her bag, keeping her hand inside around the grip but off the trigger just like Kiki showed her. This sense of certainty had been almost unthinkable back when he had first suggested he teach her how to use a gun.

It had been right after the DFS shot Víctor in that cafe and the Guadalajara cartel put a hit out on Roger. A vision of the Knapps’ front yard and driveway, littered with sheets of broken glass, struck her. Goosebumps erupted, traveling up the back of her neck as the memory replayed.

Kiki had been gently rubbing her back while they were watching Roger and Rita frantically jam suitcases in the trunk of their car, the same glass crunching beneath each frenzied step they took. She distinctly remembered, as she took in the scene, being afflicted with an almost inappropriate sense of relief that Rita wouldn’t have had to clean all of that up herself.

Looking from the driveway back to her, Kiki declared almost out of the blue, 'See if Clarice can watch Danny and Kikito sometime this week. I’m gonna take you to the range.’

He was startled when she’d started laughing, beside herself because the whole thing was absurd, right? Except, the look of unwelcome assurance in his eyes, an ominous forecast of what was to come, reminded her that it wasn’t. And that itself was absurd.

‘Baby, c’mon I’m serious.’ She could make out the ridge of his jaw bone under the skin, tensed to keep his voice low as he shook his head. ‘No. We can’t count on them coming after just me anymore. And I won’t leave you alone without knowing you can at least protect yourself, protect the boys. I’m tryin’ to end this, you know I can’t be with you all the time.’

She took a deep breath to quiet the anxious laughter. A flat look of resignation had passed over her face as she breathed out, ‘No, you’re right. You’re right.’

He put his arm around her and pulled her in so she could rest her head on his shoulder, lips dusting her forehead with a quick kiss.

‘No, I’m sorry. And I know, I know, I know. You don’t even have to say it, okay? As soon as I get this motherfucker Félix, we can start looking for places in San Diego. But right now, I need to know you can take care of business. I mean, look, okay?’ he threw his hand up, waving it around in the direction of the house. ‘Look– I mean, fuckin’ Roger was makin’ fuckin’ pancakes for his kids when they started shooting up the place!’

Mika mumbled something in agreement.

‘And anyway, you’ll feel better knowing you can kick some ass,’ he looked down and gave her a wink, ‘y’know, the Calexico way.’

The warmth of the smile in his voice got her to crack one too.

And the thing was, he had been right. She had felt better after that. Taking Kikito to school, baseball practice, doctor’s appointments, going for lunch with Ana and Ronnie, thinking about what guys who pulled her over - like that greaseball with the slicked back hair and sunglasses - would do if she flashed a gun when she reached for her license instead of cash. It might not have changed the outcome much. But at least they wouldn’t have been so smug, knowing she wasn’t going to make things easy for them. The naive part of her that had been stuck back in Calexico knew how insane that was. But the part of her there, in Guadalajara, had understood that’s simply how things needed to be. Such was their life.

Or, her life. Now.

And would you look at that? Steve gone, it was all hell breaking loose, all over again. Except whatever optimism she might’ve clung to back then like a deflating life raft went to the grave with Kiki. So, these days, she had no problem admitting she felt better with a gun. Kiki put it as, ‘knowing she could kick some ass.’ Today, she thought of it as more, in the likely event that she didn’t survive, she could make whoever decided to fuck with her regret choosing her to fuck with.

She steeled herself with a breath before opening the car door, then pulled the handle and swung it open. Kicking one leg out and whipping her head around to check the street, she felt like a periscope rising out of the sea, slowly standing up. Clear. Good. And with more self-assurance than she felt, she shut the car door, locked it, and made a beeline for the concrete stairs of the building entrance, fighting every step of the way not to give over to the mental image of being tracked by crosshairs, to not think about a little red dot on her back right where her heart would be.

Halfway to the other side of the street, a voice rang out from the dark behind her. “Hey stranger.”

She stopped cold, heart pounding so fiercely, she wondered if maybe she hadn’t been right about the crosshairs and this was what being shot was like. Relief nearly knocked her on her ass when, glancing down to make sure she was still in one piece, she realized there was nothing. Hand still gripping the gun in her bag, she whipped around faster than she could think, nearly clocking Javi in the jaw with the barrel. Just barely dodging the blow, his hands went up in a gesture of armistice, and froze like that in the middle of the street, laughing awkwardly.

“Oh my god, you scared the shit outta me. Enserio, cabrón? Has vuelto loco? Sneaking up behind a woman on a dark street? In one of the most dangerous cities in the world? Do you have a death wish?”

“Er, sorry. Yeah, I guess I sorta forgot living in a place as, uh–”

“Lawless? Insane as Medellin?”

”I was gonna say uh, unpredictable— but yeah, of course this isn’t really be new to you, is it? Pero,” he slowly brought one of his hands down and pushed the gun barrel to the side with his index finger to inspect it, “pues tengo que admitir que no esperaba que sí estuvieras tan preparada.”

He put his hand back up but something in looking at the gun made him drop his shoulders and relax into that familiar, annoying, Saturday-afternoon, Javier-‘The Man’-Peña posture he assumed when he was especially pleased with himself.

“What?” Mika’s eyebrows shot up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Man, I don’t know how to tell you this exactly,” he said, scratching his forehead. “But at the risk of er— taking a bullet to the face when I do, I— well, you should probably know that, uh … well, your safety’s on.”

From the position marked with a tiny, engraved letter “S,” the safety switch mocked Mika as much as the upturned sides of Javi’s mustache. He kept his hands up as if to reassure her that she was still in control but doing a piss-poor job because he couldn’t seem to hide that shit eating smirk on his face.

“Well,” she narrowed her eyes and shrugged, trying to play it off, “maybe I’m not out to get anyone killed. Maybe I just wanna scare them. You think anyone who matters is really gonna notice?”

He cocked his head like a curious puppy, smiling even more, “I did.”

“But do you, Agent Peña?”

“Do I what?”

“Really matter?” Mika shot back, voice laden with sarcasm but enough good humor to show she didn’t mean it.

They stared at each other for a moment and the combination of the half-wounded expression on his face and the way the street lights lit it orange like a fake tan made her want to laugh.

“Ah shit,” she glanced down the barrel of the gun, tipping it slightly to the side, “that is such a Soccer Mom move. But y’wanna know what’s worse?”

A touch of curiosity came to keep Javi’s smirk company, the desire to hear her answer punctuated by his silence.

Mika shrugged. “My kids don’t even play soccer.”

Javi looked down, shoulders shaking as he tried to direct his laughter into the pavement instead of at her. It didn’t matter though because she was laughing too. Standing in the middle of the street, they dropped their hands and busted up together so synchronously, it looked almost rehearsed.

Once their little fit subsided, Javi was the first to come up for air. “So, what’s a rogue lady of the DEA wives’ club doing on an empty street in Bogotá this late at night? Besides trying to murder me with— what is–? Hold on, is that an MHS?” Javi grabbed her hand to get a better look at the piece. “Man, where’d you manage to get one of these?”

Perplexed, Mika’s eyes darted down to the gun because for all she knew about firearms, it might as well have been a potato that she was holding. “Uhhh, it was a gift from Kiki’s partner. So, I could learn how to use one. Obviously,” she rolled her eyes, “you can see how well that went.”

“Man,” he said, letting it go with such fondness, “I didn’t even know they still made those things.” Which again, made as much sense as if he were marveling at a potato she was holding. “Y’know those are one of the only kinds of Glocks they made with slide mounted safety.”

She kept switching focus from Javi to the gun, trying to figure out what was so special about it, before realizing she didn’t actually care, “Alright, nerd,” and dropped her arm at her side.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway,” Javi said, back to reality, “I think you were about to explain the reasons for my brush with death?”

“What? Before you got sidetracked, being all nerdy and shit?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Well, what? You can’t guess?” Mika looked up at Connie’s window on the second floor and then back at Javi, whistling. “Man, you boys at the DEA must be losing your touch. They’ll hire anyone these days.”

Javi rolled his eyes, “Ha ha ha” finally letting his hands drop, palms smacking his hips on the way down. “C’mon, put yourself in my position. Sure, that wild look of biblical hellfire in your eyes is gone, but you’ve still got that,” he gestured at her side, “in your hand? So, y’know– thought it best to keep the conversation light.”

“Whoops,” Mika said, chuckling and checking that the safety was still on before putting the gun back in her purse.

Glancing at the empty street around them, Mika realized this might be a good opportunity to needle Javi for more info while she had him alone. Before he could clam up in front of Connie. “So, any news about Steve? I’m guessing that’s why you came back here, and not for a night cap and a bedtime story.”

Javi regarded her, amused but not without suspicion, brows cinched as he caught his tongue between his teeth. Another mannerism of his Mika had picked up on in the few years she’d known him. Historically, she’d found it kinda cute when he wasn’t being evasive and annoying. When he was, she found herself hoping he’d slip and bite down a little too hard.

Right now, he was being evasive and annoying.

“Please, Javi. Don’t make me go there.”

”Sorry?”

She eyed him with a measure of regret, acutely aware that his foot had just hit the metal plate of the conversational trap she’d just set and the mechanical jaws were about to clamp shut. “You’re not gonna make me invoke my dead husband’s name to shame you into telling me, are you?” There they went.

His hands flew to his hips as he cocked one out to the side, face morphing from suspicious to pained and almost pleading. But still, nothing.

With that, all regret evaporated and Mika just rolled her eyes, turning on her heels and headed for the door of the apartment building. She made it to the other side of the street and up the steps but paused, fingertips on the handle, when she realized he wasn’t following her.

“Cmon Agent Peña, just tell the truth.” Turning around, she shifted the weight of her bag on her shoulder so she could grab the spare key from one of its pockets. “Look, I know it’s not something that comes naturally to you boys in blue, but just think of it as practice. You know, for when you talk to Connie.”

Javi’s eyes darted from her, to the window of Connie and Steve’s apartment on the second floor, then back at her, then back down at the ground. Weighing his options, it seemed, he stood like that for what felt like ages before rubbing his face, grumbling into his palms, “Ah, fine. Fuck it.”

Mika turned back to the door, taking a mental victory lap - gotcha - as she swung it open.

And in a few long strides over to and up the stairs, skipping every other step, Javi was slipping in the door right behind her. He followed her down the hallway, both of them walking in silence, past his apartment, up the first flight of stairs, until, when turning to climb the next flight, he was seemingly unable to contain himself. “Hey. What’d you mean back there?”

Mika kept pace about to start up the next set of stairs, paying him no mind.

He raised his voice to a kind of whisper-yell, grabbing her hand before she could get too far up the stairs, “Mika!”

She turned around and walked back down stopping a step above him.

“Not something that comes naturally?" He let her hand slid out of his almost reluctantly before crossing his arms. "You wanna explain what that’s supposed to mean, exactly?”

There was more vulnerability in this than anger, the words of a boy on the playground whose feelings were hurt because someone kicked over his sandcastle.

She almost felt sorry for him but Connie’s words, thick with tears rang in her ears. Javi left before I could ask him anything. All he said was that he thinks Steve’s alive, but that just means he’s not sure he’s dead.

And all of a sudden, the long since dormant bitterness and fury that had made its home deep in the pit of her stomach when Kiki died came back to collect. With interest. It burned in her chest so tangibly, it felt like some toxic, poisonous gas all these years had been incubating in her body for all of these years that she was about to unleash with the steady stream of a flamethrower. Poor Javi. He was in for it.

The tragic part, the part she’d feel guilty about later, was that none of this was his fault. It was some bureaucrat’s, some bored old bastard, way up the chain of command, tucked away in some embassy office, sat behind a titanic mahogany desk so expensive it could cover the down payment on her house, even though he did nothing but shuffle papers around, shake hands, kiss babies, make phone calls to grieving wives and mothers to give them that familiar speech: Why yes, everything is under control, ma’am. We’re doing all that we can, ma’am. Well hey now, there’s no reason to raise your voice, ma’am. You just need to understand these things take time. Now, please take a seat over there so I can pretend like you’re not wasting mine, ma'am.

Unfortunately for Javi, he was the one in front of her. And there was nowhere else for it to go. He’d looked like he’d taken a few on the chin in his day, but she couldn’t be sure he could bounce back from this one. Not that it mattered. This was an argument she’d had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Christ, was this going to be any different?

“Look,” Mika sighed, “Connie already told me everything you’ve shared with her.”

Looking like he was frozen in time, Javi stood there, forehead pinched in a moment of calculation. As much as he seemed unsure of what to expect, at the same time, he was aware enough not to insult her by playing completely dumb.

“And to be honest?” she continued, crossing her arms. “So far, that ‘everything’ sounds like a whole lotta nothing.”

Javi winced but managed to sputter out, “I don’t know what you’re talk—“

“Please. Don’t patronize me with all that,” Mika’s fingers came up to make air quotes, “‘What on earth could you mean?’ bullshit” and then ended the bit, dropping her hands at her hips. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime?”

Eyes wide, mouth open, Javi looked stunned, the inevitable ‘What are you talking about?’ stuck in his throat, leaving him with nothing to say or do but wait for her to elaborate.

“You wanna know what I’m talk—? Fine, fine. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about.” With a clipped breath, she steadied herself. “You think you’re protecting Connie by keeping her in the dark. Gone for hours, not answering her calls, not checking in, not telling her where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to, where you’re going.”

Her eyes pinned Javi in place, right there in the middle of the stairway. Perhaps trying not buckle under the weight of decades of forfeited accountability, in an effort to cope, he shrank back trying to become one with the wall. But Mika wasn’t done.

“She’s not some precious fucking flower who’ll wilt at any mention of the truth. And she’s not an idiot. She deserves the facts and your honest assessment about well,” she waved her hands, “whatever is going on. And that includes what you think Steve’s chances are.”

“His chances?”

“Of being alive, Javi.”

His jaw tightened hard, lips pursed like he was sucking on a lemon, and he paused for a long time before launching into the same good-ole-boy schpiel she’d heard a thousand times. With Javi though, there was a well-veiled but desperate sincerity with which he delivered it that reminded her of Jaime. “With all due respect Mika, I can’t— I don’t know if you understand the moving pieces at play here. How rigged the system is. How— well, how beyond fucked up it all is.”

Mika’s head sank, chin nearly touching her chest. However sincere, it wasn’t enough.

“Y’know,” she spoke down at the ground, through a cruel, thin laugh, “I don’t bring this up often because it doesn’t make for great dinner conversation, certainly not an ice breaker. But since you’re such a man, I bet you can handle it,” and then looked back up to him with a smile that came nowhere close to her eyes. “When I arrived at the ME’s office to identify Kiki’s body, do you know what they were picking out of the gaping wounds on his head?”

The look on Javi’s face said he wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. He didn’t need to.

“Chunks of rebar and wood. Along with pieces of his skull.”

A war waged in Javi’s eyes between heartbreak and indignation but he was smart enough to know that now was not the time to give voice to either.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, maybe I’m mistaken. But were you there, Agent Peña? Were you the one to survey all the wounds he had? Did you read the coroner’s report– the one with that stupid, generic outline of a body that cataloged each and every injury? Did you see how riddled his body was? With bruises? Cuts? Welts? Burns?” She shook her head like she still couldn’t believe it. “Actual holes?”

His face conveyed nothing but heartbreak now. No matter that these were all rhetorical questions, it was the right answer.

“So, I think a better question is, do you know how fucked up it all is?”

Eyes cast off to the side, Javi was quiet for a long time, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek, likely trying to decide what, if anything, to say, until he was reanimated by a moment of epiphany. He stood up straight, no longer resembling a shriveled barnacle, stuck to the wall. And it all came out, practically in one breath.

“Alright, alright. Fine. You want the truth? The truth is, I have no idea. I have” he threw up his hands with the frustration of a man whose luck had run out, finally folding at the poker table, “not a fucking clue who took him. Nothing. No leads. No evidence. Except my colleague’s contacts in the military haven’t caught wind of anything about a DEA being taken by Escobar’s people, so it’s probably not him and I’ve just been trying to keep things quiet so th—“

“So you don’t get him killed by spooking the kidnappers because you turned law enforcement onto a big search. That’s a song and dance I remember.”

“Right,” Javi carried on without missing a beat. “Which means I’ve got no help from the embassy, no help from my own agency, no help from the military. And I sure as fuck don’t want help from any of those shady fucks in the CIA. So yeah,” he;d been talking so fast, he was nearly gasping now, “I think— since it’s not Escobar, I think he might— well, might be—”

“Dead.”

He exhaled a defeated, “Yeeup.”

After her little speech, Mika wasn’t sure what Javi would come back with but she didn’t expect him to fold quite so easily. He was an even easier nut to crack than Jaime had been when he came to give her the news that he’d found Kiki’s car. To be fair, she did have more leverage now, what with Kiki already being dead. Everyone already got their crash course, a ‘How-To’ in ‘What-Not-To-Do’ when a DEA agent goes missing. Still, she expected more resistance, more half-truths couched in platitudes, more bullshit. But he didn’t do that to her.

She looked him up and down, sizing him up like she hadn’t gotten it right the first time and decided, in that moment, she respected him infinitely more than she had just minutes ago.

“Okay,“ she began, breaking the silence. “Besides Escobar, who else would take him? Could it be someone in the government? Maybe loyal to the cartel but, I don’t know,” she shrugged, “operating without Escobar’s say-so?”

Javi shook his head, “We have most of the financials of his operation, who takes his bribes, who’s on his payroll. Shit, half of them are bribed by us to look the other way when it’s convenient,” and looked wearily off to the side, grumbling, “The fuckin’ good guys, right.”

“Yeah, it seems like, no matter where you go, these ‘company’ men don’t have any real loyalty. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s some kind of professional code that the rest of us don’t know about.”

Mika thought of Heath and the dozens of others in the DEA, Homeland Security, Defense Department, men in the same gray suits offering the same recycled condolences and half baked apologies in the months after Kiki died. She didn’t bother to wipe the stray tear that escaped down her cheek.

Javi shoved his hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Alright,” Mika said, with a knowing smile. “Well. There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it.”

“Oh sure, yeah, real piece of cake,” he scoffed.

They were both quiet, staring at each other until Javi piped up, “Y’know actually, I hear there are some teaching positions open at that uh,” he snapped his fingers, “whatsit, the School of the Americas? Yeah, they could learn a thing or two from you. Call it Emotional Blackmail and Interrogation Techniques 101. You should look into that. Might be your calling. I hear the pay’s nothing earth shattering. But the health benefits— tsk great.”

Mika looked down at the floor, chuckling.

“Although, I gotta say, that biblical hellfire look? That is— phew,” he waved his hand in front of her face and she giggled, “that is raw talent. Can’t teach that. So alright, what's next, patrona, Ms. Inquisition? What do we do now?”

“Well,” Mika’s nose scrunched, giving way to real laughter this time which helped her to break the news gently, “for starters, you’re gonna tell Connie everything you just told me.”

Javi opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “Look, if nothing in the last five minutes told you I’m not here for bullshit, maybe this will: as his wife, she deserves the truth.”

He crossed his arms again, quietly defensive.

“And as his wife, you might be able to leverage her, in case the higher ups try to play games, drag their feet on this.”

“Sorry,” he leaned forward like he didn’t hear her right, “leverage?”

“You said it yourself, you have no leads. It’s time to take this up the ladder, and there’s more than one of those, yes?”

Javi groaned.

“Look, when Kiki went missing, no one did anything at first. His boss Jaime was the only one looking. There was more traction when I got involved. But really,” she shook her head in awe, like she still couldn’t believe it, “it’s not ‘till I lost my shit on one of the deputy directors in Mexico City that things started happening.”

Get off your ass and start helping the other agents. Go find my fuckin’ husband!

“It makes sense now, chain-of-command and all that, but if I’d known direct worked better than diplomacy, I would’ve started off yelling.”

Javi raked his hands over his face.

“So now, you need to figure out which ladder to take this up to.”

“Yeah, okay,” his palms were nearly in his eye sockets now, “so when I figure that out, you want me to what—“ then dropped them from his face with a sigh. “Parade Connie, the distraught maybe-widow in front of whatever executive leadership and hope that’ll force them to act?”

“Jesus Javi, it’s not like you’re a stage parent forcing your kid do pageants.”

“Might as well be.”

“Don’t trivialize this, okay? This could work. Connie’s more than someone’s wife. She’s a person. And she’s smart. Articulate. Not only that, she’s a blonde-haired, blue-eyed nurse for god’s sake. America’s sweetheart. And frankly, she can be convincing to whatever executive leadership in a way that you can’t. I mean, let’s face it, all your police-radio jargon, letter-of-the-law, doublespeak nonsense, none of you law enforcement guys know how to properly emote.”

Javi laughed at that such fullness and depth, Mika realized that every time she’d heard him laugh before had been nothing but a pitiful shadow, a cheap imitation of the real thing. They'd known each other for a two years. How long could it have been since he'd laughed like that?

“Okay, Press Secretary Camarena. Point taken.”

“Plus, you have a trump card this time. Something Jaime and I didn’t have.”

“Oh yeah. What’s that?”

“The myth, the legend, the man himself, Kiki Camarena. Or really, the stain on the squeaky clean record of the DoD. The death of the myth, the legend, the man.”

Javi chewed on that in silence, along with the inside of his cheek.

“Believe me, that’s a level of public scrutiny they don’t ever want to see again. They’ll avoid it at all costs. Especially if the government wants to keep selling weapons to anti-communist guerrillas. Undisturbed.”

“Jesus Mika,” Javi kicked back off the wall, eyes wide with admiration, and she could practically see the lightbulb above his head, “You really have thought this whole thing through.”

She bit back the tears welling in her eyes, an inexplicable wave of self-consciousness sweeping over her, and all she could think to do was shrug. “When someone dies, like how Kiki died, you always hear people talk about the hours they spent agonizing over it. Not sleeping for weeks, months— because you can’t help it. It’s involuntary. You think about things, replay every moment, every interaction– what could I have possibly said, done differently? What didn’t I see before it was too late?”

She swiped the tears off her cheeks and swallowed hard. He looked at her, touched by the peculiar sorrow that can only accompany surrogate grief.

“Not many people get a chance to see the ‘what-ifs’ through. Me? I’ve had seven years to think about it. What I’d do differently. And now, I can use that to protect someone I love? Shit, this?” she smiled, making a gun gesture at Javi and pulling the trigger, “pschew. This is my shot.”

Javi just looked at her, dumbstruck.

“Whatever happens, god forbid, if Steve dies, however this plays out, it sure as hell won’t be because I wasted my shot.”

With that, she turned, and walked up the stairs to the second floor.

⥈

taglist: @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @ladygoatee, @ashlingiswriting, @ashlingnarcos, @kesskirata @artemiseamoon, @cositapreciosa, @rerorero-my-cherry

#narcos #narcos mexico #mika camarena #connie murphy #javier peña #mika & connie #mika x javi #fic update #new chapter #gifs by me #rip to a king kiki

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hausofmamadas · 2 years

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For Those That Seek the Jungle's Forgiveness | Part 1

(formerly titled "Gone. Like That." Read on -> Part 2)

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Pairing: Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy

Written especially for @kesskirata - Narcos Fanfiction Exchange 2022

Word count: 4K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, grief/mourning, loss of significant other just like don't fuckin' read this if you're in the middle of grieving the death of a loved one, I implore thee

"But Colombia? It made no sense. It sounded nuts. It was nuts. But it was also something different ... So, she did it. She went nuts."

It's 1991 - six years after Kiki Camarena’s death. His widow Mika Camarena has been living in Colombia for about three years. She’s best friends with Connie Murphy, she's homies with Steve Murphy, she’s made Javi hopelessly smitten with her, and she’s maybe, possibly the only person who can save Steve from ending up worm chow.

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“Kikito can you answer that please? This is the third time they’ve called and given how often your nenita calls, I’m pretty sure it’s not for me."

Kikito closed the fridge with a groan and strode down the hall.

“Don’t you growl at me. And– hey. Don’t stay on too long. You still gotta finish your homework before bed. I don’t have it in me to help you write another essay about Ernest Hemingway or whoever at three am, mijo.”

Mika scrubbed the rust off the pan, wishing the scouring pad on the back of her sponge was steel wool. Or a blowtorch. Connie insisted she’d get used to the weather, but so far, she and her cookware had failed to acclimate to the humidity. The air was so thick, sometimes breathing felt like being water boarded and the kinds of bugs they had would be right at home in National Geographic issue about insects that look like aliens. But even if the tropical weather didn’t agree with her, Colombia did have something Guadalajara didn’t. Connie and Steve had been a godsend. And Javi too … in his own way. Or, he tried at least.

When they finally sat down to eat, Connie kept making faces at her. Mika didn’t know what she was on about but she’d find out later it was related to why Javi was, as Connie said, “on his best behavior” or as Steve put it more colorfully in that homegrown Tennessee drawl, “all minding his Ps and Qs and shit.” But before that? The only thing out of the ordinary that Mika detected was an occasional, well-disguised but evident look of awe that came across Javi’s face whenever she glanced at him, like a kid trying to play it cool while meeting his favorite baseball player. That and the downright robotic way he shook her hand when he said goodbye. You would've thought they’d just closed a great deal on the sale of a condo.

“Right. Ah, thanks for dinner.” He practically ran to his car. The only thing that could’ve made it more awkward was if he’d tacked on ‘ma’am’ at the end.

When they were clearing the table later, Connie finally told her why she was pulling faces all throughout dinner. She had been surprised at Javi’s newfound sense of propriety.

“Look, I’m just shocked he didn’t make a pass at you. I think that says something,” Connie said, handing her a plate.

Mika noted wryly, dunking it into the soapy water, “I think what it says? Is he’s that guy."

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. Javi’s a good guy, he’s just the kind of— where— okay, you know how generally speaking, everyone’s prone to feeling a little lost in life?”

Mika nodded. She had no idea where Connie was going with this, but wherever it was she was intrigued.

“Right. It’s a transient thing. We've all been there, we get it." Her voice shot up half an octave, "Let's just say being lost is a permanent destination for Javi? And uh, like a kid looking for his mom in a supermarket, he grabs onto any woman’s skirt in the hopes it’ll help him find his way.”

Mika laughed at the way Connie threw up her hands, like she was giving up, stumped by the exceedingly complex math problem that was Javier Peña.

“I feel like that’s a really long-winded way of saying he's a lost cause.”

Connie shook her head, “Mm, see that just doesn’t fully convey the true depth, the scope of 'lost' that I’m talking about here.”

“Huh. Well, since it seems like he is that guy,” Mika turned to look at her reflection in the microwave, “I don’t know what I did wrong. Shoot, I guess I styled my hair a little differently today. Or, I mean— I know I put on a couple pounds in the last couple of months - y'know too much arequipe - but damn, I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Connie’s laugh sounded more like a screech. She snapped the dish towel at Mika. “Oh, c’mon! You know that’s not what I mean.”

Mika doubled down, chuckling, “Well sure, you’re my friend. That’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“You’re just going to watch me dig this grave aren’t you.”

“What? I’m right there with you, manita,” a sly grin spread across her face, “handing you the shovel.”

Connie smiled and scrunched her nose, twisting the dish towel in her hands like she was going to snap it again.

“Let’s go, guera. I can take you,” Mika threw her hands up and cocked her head, channeling the teenage-wannabe, Calexico cholita she was back in the day.

They both giggled. Connie bumped Mika’s hip with hers, “One of these days, cabrona.”

“Ey, there we go. You pick things up that quick, I’ll have you talking like a real chola in no time. Steve won’t know what to do with you.”

Connie murmured, “The better to scare him with,” a cheeky smile on her face.

“Yeah, show him who really wears the pants because he loves that so much.”

“As if he could ever forget.”

Mika wagged her eyebrows up and down knowingly, “True.” She turned off the faucet and wiped her hands on her jeans.

Connie tossed the dish towel by the sink and hopped up to sit on the counter, “No, but seriously, I only bring it up because Javi— well, he fancies himself some kind of Casanova. I call it a bad substitute for therapy. And I’m sorry but you’re exactly his type. Brown-eyed, brunette knockout. A smart, resilient, kind-yet-uncompromising woman,” she suddenly lowered her voice like a she was narrating a movie trailer and leaned forward, “with a dark past and a deep well of sadness.”

Mika threw her head back and laughed.

“No! But I’m serious!”

Connie busted up too, both laughing so hard until they were gasping for air. Steve walked into the dining room tucking his shirt in, eyes squinting, cigarette planted firmly between his lips, wearing the look of a perpetually confused and disgruntled man. He leaned on the counter of the breakfast nook, waiting expectantly. Connie and Mika just stared at him, then looked at each other and cut up all over again.

"Is anyone gonna let me in on the joke here, or are we cracking up 'cause I'm the joke?"

Mike teased, "I don't know Steve, maybe if you'd stayed and helped us clean up, you'd be in on the joke. I thought they were all about manners in the South."

Connie composed herself with one of those long, drawn out laugh-sighs and leaned over, putting a consolatory hand on Steve's cheek, "Oooh, no it's not you. Not now, anyway. No, this time, the punchline is Javi."

Steve's cigarette bobbed a bit as his tense jaw and pursed lips relaxed into a sly smirk. "Shoot, that's some of my favorite stand-up material. Guess I should've stayed and helped y'all after all. Lemme guess, y'all are discussing that school-boy crush he's desperately trying to squash."

"Actually, Connie seemed to be suggesting the opposite. He's the kind of guy who'd hit on a rock, but he didn't put the moves on me. So, it can only be concluded I am an unsightly, old wench."

"That is not what I was saying and you know it!" Connie play-smacked her in the arm.

Steve leaned back, eyes wide with mock shock, "Connie, how is that any way to treat your friend? And a widow at that?"

He looked at Mika, chuckling out a puff of smoke. Her nose scrunched as she giggled and high-fived him.

"You can't co-opt my friend with humor and Southern charm, Steve. I won't stand for it."

"Look baby, you set up such a perfect shot —can't expect me to let that one go."

Connie threw up her hands and swept them around in a semi-circle, "May I just remind everyone that I was the one who thought they should meet. I didn't expect Javi to suddenly grow a conscience and adopt the manners of a 1950s house-husband."

"He was a little uptight, wasn't he," Steve mused. "Poor little guy, just don't know what to do with himself."

That’s when Mika finally realized what Connie was trying to say. Javi was awkward, but he was on his best behavior for a reason. Despite the fact that he never knew Kiki and despite the fact that apparently anything with a pulse was fair game, it seemed Javi respected Kiki too much to let his playboy antics to get the best of him, almost like making a pass at Mika would’ve been an affront to his memory. It was naive but well-intentioned. It was also sweet in a way that made Mika want to lock herself in a closet and cry for days.

The truth was, Javi didn’t need to shut anything down. The mainframe broke a long time ago. Because no matter who it was or how hard they tried, it just wasn't Kiki. It didn't matter what all those self-help books said about grief, how "it got better with time," how "the load would lighten, float away a little more each day," enough time had passed now that she knew she’d never stop missing him like he’d just left.

Without him, no place on earth was ever going to feel like home. But Connie and Steve came close. They tethered her to reality the same way Jaime and Ana did back in Guadalajara. After Kiki was killed, Guadalajara of course wasn’t the same but Jaime and Ana took her in like she was family. So, when Jaime eventually got transferred after a couple of years, and they had to move to El Paso, the city felt downright alien. Nothing looked real and each mundane reminder of the empty space where Kiki used to be began to disassemble her, piece by piece: their favorite open-air market, favorite restaurant with the homemade, hand-pressed corn tortillas, favorite little, date-night, divey cantina, the route through the neighborhood they used to take Danny for walks in his stroller, the too-big, King-sized bed with that hideous palm-tree bedspread he hated, the one his mother gave them for their anniversary one year. Worse yet, the void of Kiki was starting to replace him, memories of precious moments going fuzzy at the edges more and more each day.

At first, she thought maybe she’d go back to Calexico. Until she realized surely, there would be little echoes of him, them, in their hometown. It would’ve been just as bad. Probably worse. She never considered Colombia until Jaime brought it up.

“Yeah, it’s a hotbed of cartel activity, fixin’ to be a war zone over there,” all pecan pie in that Southern drawl of his, “what with that Escobar at odds with the Colombian government on extradition and such.”

“Jaime. Ugh—” Mika let out a huff as she struggled to untangle the telephone cord, “you’re not really selling me on this whole Colombia idea. Why the hell would I want to live in a war zone?”

Jaime’s laugh always filled her with warmth and relief. “Look, I’m not saying it’s Sandals Resort in La Paz by any means, but you don’t want to come here to El Paso which—” he said with more than a hint of irreverence, “heck, understandable. You can’t go back to Calexico. You certainly can’t stay in Guadalajara. Maybe it could be a new adventure for you guys. With all the action, you’re bound to find some community there. ‘Sides,” he concluded dryly, “it’s not like Guadalajara has been a pacifist utopia these days.”

By community, Mika knew he meant DEA. An interesting point, given it was really the only one she’d known for several years. But Colombia? It made no sense. It sounded nuts. It was nuts. But Jaime was right, it was something different. She tried to dampen the budding hope that she might live in a place that wouldn’t haunt her. A place where maybe she could be closer to Kiki than the absence of him. And, Jaime was three for three because Guadalajara really wasn’t the ‘burbs. She’d stayed somewhat for practical reasons, to keep things like school consistent for the boys. But the other part of staying, Mika reasoned, was to raise them in a place where they’d stay connected to their heritage, their father, know where they came from. An environment with a diversity of people from all walks of life, so they could see that not everyone had what they had, so they could see and understand the harsh truths of the world before being stuck in it alone. Some of that could be achieved in a place like Colombia. So, she went nuts. She did it.

They’d only been there a few months when she happened to meet Connie at one of the colonia’s many farmer’s markets. Danny had been wandering around looking at all the exotic fruit and handmade wares when he saw a girl about his age, in denim overalls and a pageboy haircut, looking at the dream-catchers. He and Livvy made fast friends. He tugged on the hem of Mika’s jacket, “mama, venga a conocer mi nueva amiga,” pulling her closer and closer to Olivia and a no-nonsense blonde woman, swearing at one of the vendors in broken Spanish. From what Mika gathered, it seemed like they were haggling but the guy running the stand wasn’t being straight with her, trying to take advantage of who he thought was a clueless gringa.

“Estas haciendo pasar un mal ratito a mí amiga?” >*Are you giving my friend a hard time?*

The slimy little man and Connie were both startled. The man’s eyes darted to Mika and then down at the ground, as he adjusted the brim of his faded baseball cap and sputtered. “No señora, solo estaba—”

She cut him off, grabbing the dream-catcher they were haggling over.

“Pues, a esto se debe todo el revuelo? Pinshe huevon, lo podría hacer por la mitad que estás cobrarle. Una gabacha y con su niña? En serio pues, guey?” She held up the trinket. “I’ll spell it out for you. We’re taking this, sin cargo alguno. Estamos pues?” > *All the fuss over this? Fucking moron, I could make this for half the price you’re charging her. A foreigner, with her kid? Really, dude? I’ll spell it out for you. We’re taking this, free-of-charge. Got it?*

He jiggled his head up and down in agreement.

She handed it to the blonde woman, who smiled smugly at the guy. Mika stifled a laugh when the guera offered him her fakest, “muchas gracias.”

They walked out onto the pebbled street together, Danny and Livvy skipping ahead, playfully shoving one another.

“Oh my god, thank you. You have no idea how long I’ve been arguing with that asshole. I’m Connie by the way.”

“Mika.” She shook Connie’s outstretched hand and smiled warmly. “Honestly, I’m just happy to see another expat from the States. Colombians aren’t especially welcoming to us Chicanos I’ve learned. The combination of gringo and Mexican is really not— tsk tsk." She cut the air with her hand the way film directors do.

“Oh no, so you're like Double Jeopardy. But wait— I mean, I know I stick out like a sore thumb with my half-assed Spanish. But how can they even tell you’re not Colombian when you’re not speaking English?”

Mika chuckled sarcastically, “it’s the brand of Spanish that gives me away. Every country kind of has its own brand. One of the dead giveaways that I’m not Colombian is the lack of ‘vos’ but what really gives the Mexicana away are things like ‘chela’ and ‘chinga.'”

Connie looked at her with blank curiosity.

“Chela is like cerveza, just means beer, but a very Mexican thing. And I think I heard you say ‘puta madre’ back there? In Mexico, more often it’s ‘chingada madre.’”

Connie laughed, “wow, so your version of ‘motherfucker’ is as neon a sign as my gringo Spanish and Disney-princess blonde hair.”

“Ha, sorta yeah. Well, close. I mean, no matter what Mexican slang I throw around, they at least know they can’t get one over on me like that guy just tried to do with you. So, you’ve probably dealt with more bullshit. That’s is why I butted in —can’t stand crap like that.”

“My husband’s partn— mm— one of my husband’s coworkers speaks English and Spanish. I’ve asked him to teach me but trying to get that guy to do anything you want him— well, or don’t want him to do,” Connie whistled, “phew, in one ear and out the other.”

“Classic. Sounds like a keeper.” When Connie didn’t say anything, Mika clarified nervously, “Sorry, the coworker. Not your husband.”

Connie laughed, “Oh no, I wasn’t— sorry, I just stuck a piece of gum in my mouth. No, trust me,” she spoke quietly now, like she was revealing trade secrets on the stock exchange floor, “I love Steve, don’t get me wrong. But I am well acquainted with what a grade-A ass he can be.”

“Oh, no kidding! Glad to know I’m not the only one who knows what it’s like to be married to a lovable grade-A ass.”

“Oh yes,” Connie swept her hand out next to her in a presentation-like gesture, “welcome to the support group. So far it’s just me, but uh— Hey! It reeks of stale liquor and cigarettes and the coffee’s barely drinkable, so I’m sure there’ll be more butts in these seats soon.”

That lit both of them up. Before they knew it, they were wheezing those noiseless laughs with no air left. Danny looked back at them, “What’s so funny?”

“Aw mijo, it’s too hard to explain. Don’t worry about it.”

When they settled down, Connie noticed Mika’s left hand. “You said 'be married to a lovable, grade-A ass.' Was that past-tense?”

Mika nodded gravely.

“Can I ask what happened?"

Mika looked down at the ground, watching her feet stepping on the cracks of the pebbled street as if they weren't her own

Connie ventured nervously, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pry. You have full license to tell me to fuck off, if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Mika smiled softly, without joy, “He died.”

She worried her impassiveness made Connie uncomfortable, but she figured out years ago that if she allowed herself to really feel every time she answered the question, she’d never stop screaming.

“Oh gosh, forgive— I didn’t mean— Fuck. I’m just ... I'm so sorry.”

They walked in silence for a bit, watching Livvy and Danny dodging between the crowds of shoppers ahead, playing some kind of make-believe game about pirates it sounded like. Mika gave a small, sad smile and a nod to reassure Connie she’d done nothing wrong. If anything, she was grateful that Connie didn’t ask how Kiki died. She wasn’t ready to be Mika Camarena, Kiki Camarena’s widow just yet. Eventually, she’d have to give up the ghost and put that mourning veil on again, but she was relieved Connie didn’t force it on her. For now, she was simply Mika.

In some ways, that was the first sign of an almost innate mutual understanding between them. When Connie eventually discovered who Mika really was after spotting a stray bill left out on the kitchen table, she was able to finally tell the truth about Steve. That no, he was not in fact a “janitorial services professional” for the US embassy building, but a DEA agent. And the infamous janitor “coworker” who wouldn’t teach her Spanish was actually his partner, Javier Peña. That revelation only expanded their mutual understanding into a kind of easy shorthand, so that, despite the fact they hadn’t known each other long, Mika and Connie knew each other.

That’s why it felt like such a knife to the gut, when Kikito rushed in with the phone in his hand. “Mom, mom, mom,” she could tell he was scared. “It’s Connie. I can’t understand what she’s saying, she’s crying.”

Mika took the phone, trying her best not to look alarmed. She didn’t want to frighten Kikito more than he was already.

She kept her voice, low and calm, “Connie? What happened?”

Connie was lucid but hysterical, “Steve’s gone. I don’t know where he is. No one’s seen him anyw— anywhere for several hours. Javi just left. He didn’t tell me—” She trailed off, choked by the force of her own panicked sobs.

No. Not again. This was not was happening again. Not after Kiki. She couldn’t abide a world that would put someone else through everything she went through. What he went through. The memory of his mangled body on that cold metal slab hit her again; all caked in mud, riddled with cuts and burns, pieces of rebar still stuck in the wounds on his head, his swollen, bruised face barely recognizable yet still her Kiki all the same. Sometimes, she felt it would’ve been easier if he’d been completely unrecognizable.

Mika squeezed her temples - think - then covered the receiver. “Mijo, go get your brother dressed, pack a bag, and call Laura, her phone number's on the fridge. Tell her there’s an emergency and ask if you guys can stay there. Livvy too. I'll explain the rest in the car.” Kikito skittered off down the hallway. “And hey! Don’t forget your toothbrushes. The overnight bag is in my closet on the top shelf. Just use my office chair if you can’t reach it.”

She took her hand off the receiver. “Okay Connie, how long as he been missing?"

"I— I don't even know. You know how it is on the job. It's— " she sniffled, voice growing thick again with tears, "It's not a regular nine to five."

"Do you know who the last person to see him was?"

"We think it was the Agent in Charge at the embassy. The older lady who wears the Miss Piggy make-up. But— I do—" she broke down again, sobbing into the receiver, "I don't even know for sure."

"Hmm." Mika chewed on the inside of her cheek, "Before he left, did Javi tell you where he looked so far? I'm sure he checked all of Steve’s normal, routine stops, but did he check places they go to meet their C.I.s, has he talked to any of the informants? Did he check the hospitals? Churches? Shelters? Morgues?”

Connie sucked in a huge breath and exhaled slowly. A few heartbreaking stray whimpers escaped the back of her throat.

“No, he didn’t say much and he left before I could ask him anything. All he said was that he thinks Steve’s alive, but … all that really means,” her voice broke again, “is he’s not certain he’s dead yet.”

“Listen to me. I need you to breathe. You have every right to be upset, and unlike those smug, patronizing assholes that you’re gonna inevitably have to talk to at the embassy or the DEA, I mean it with every fiber of my being. But right now, you need to have your wits about you.”

“Okay?” The sound of Connie’s voice, hoarse and confused, nearly broke Mika. It took everything not to burst into tears herself.

“We’re going to have to deal with this on our own. No federales, no Search Bloc, no DEA, no Martinez, no Javi.”

“What? Even no Javi? Why?”

“Because as much as they all mean well,” Mika chuckled with an apocalyptic edge and punctuated each word, “All they’ll do is lie.”

Connie said nothing.

“They’ll lie to save face. They’ll lie because they think it’ll protect Steve. And they’ll lie to protect you because they think you can’t take it. And because they don’t want to deal with the ‘hassle’ of your tears, your sadness, your rage.” Mika sighed the whole weight of the world, “All they’ll do is lie. And that? What they project as compassion or strength that’s really a pretense for apathy? That’s a death sentence.”

Mika waited for Connie to speak. She didn’t. Praying she wasn’t catatonic, Mika continued, “But it doesn’t have to be. No one’s contacted you, the embassy, or the DEA for ransom, so whoever it is doesn't want money. And anyone in the game who wanted him dead, no matter which side of the law, would’ve shot him walking to his car and left him somewhere. He’d be gone,” Mika snapped her fingers, “like that. So, Steve is probably alive. For now.”

Neither of them said his name. The silence was already heavy with it. But Connie knew what they did to Kiki, every gory detail. She was probably picturing Steve right now, battered and bloody, tied to a chair in some dank shed in the middle of the jungle. The irony that Steve was probably alive, and that it wasn’t much more consolation than knowing he was dead, struck Mika painfully.

"Okay." Connie blew her nose and took another breath, this one more even, chilled by determination. “What do we do.”

“I need you to get a piece of paper and something to write with.” She waited patiently through scuffling sounds as Connie fiddled with the receiver.

“Okay, got it.”

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Mika recited the number.

“Who’s this for?”

“It’s the number for the DEA field office in El Paso. Now, you need to wake up Livvy and get ready to leave. Kikito’s calling my neighbor Laura. She and her mom can take the kids. Wait for me outside your place. Listen to me very carefully. If I’m not there within a half an hour and you can’t get ahold of me? Call that number and ask for Special Agent in Charge Jaime Kuykendall or Agent Walt Breslin. Do not let them pass you off to receptionist or another agent. You have to talk to one of them.”

Connie asked breathlessly, “Wait, Mika. Who are they? And where would you— Why wouldn’t I be able to get ahol—”

“They’re people who’ll know what to do.” Mika stared at the spine of Kikito’s battered copy of Charlotte’s Web on the living-room bookshelf. “But more importantly, they’ll tell you the truth. Now c’mon manita, we don’t have any time to waste. Every second counts. I’ll see you soon.”

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#Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy #Connie Murphy & Mika Camarena #connie murphy #mika camarena #javi peña #steve murphy #Narcos/Narcos Mexico crossover AU #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos imagine #narcos mexico imagine #Narcos Fanfiction Exchange 2022 #javi is a ho always and forever #but mans has standard's when it comes to hitting on dead fellow DEA agent's wife #so like ... go javi?#HOWMEVER #if i were to continue this ...#which i won't because i have no fucking idea where tf to take it...#but if i did ... you bet your bottom dollar i'd find a way to make Javi/Mika happen #could she fix him? ... hell no #would it be hot and probably accidentally hilarious if she tried? ... you do the math #would there be limitless bickering wherein javi realizes that he's wrong about everything? ... what do you take me for #oh also if you really wanna ruin your day #go ahead and pull up the Nmx soundtrack on apple music or spotify or wherever tf #scroll on down to a little ditty called 'Charlotte's Web' and throw that bitch on about halfway thru the fic #it will wre- aherm make your fuckin day

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